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Fool's gold

Writer's picture: Hana MahmoodHana Mahmood

I should have looked away,


but the gleam held me captive.


Staying silent, I watched the glow—


too weak to question its burn.


Maybe if I had spoken,


I wouldn’t still feel the weight of its grip,


the way it clings to me,


like tarnished gold pressing on my skin,


a necklace too tight to breathe.




Its brilliance, once blinding,


hides the cracks beneath the surface.


Pain glinted like shards of glass,


cutting deeper the more I reached.




I pretended the sparkle made it alright,


but my reflection disappears,


lost in its cold, hard shine.


I’m watching myself dissolve—


a stranger through polished silver eyes.




One day, I hope to let go,


to see past the shimmer


and stop chasing the light that leaves me in the dark.


Maybe then, my skin will feel my own,


my heart alive in a softer glow.


I hurt, I cried, but the shine never asked why.

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